


Early One Morning

by SherlockRiverHekate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:31:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2095875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockRiverHekate/pseuds/SherlockRiverHekate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is woken early in the morning by one of Sherlock's experiments. An overtired Sherlock and a caring John, pure fluff. Written with the prompt Fish and Sock, suggested by my sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early One Morning

Early One Morning

John woke early one morning, the sunlight just starting to stream through the curtains. With a groan, he rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head. As he drifted off again, John vaguely wondered what had woken him. Then it hit him, a wave of stomach curling stench. Gagging, John threw the blankets off and stumbled out of bed. The clock beside his bed flashed red numbers in the dark, 5:40am. With a curse, the doctor descended the stairs and entered the small kitchen.

The table of the kitchen resembled a laboratory bench, chemicals, beakers and various other pieces of equipment cluttering the surface. Bent over the table, a beaker spewing gas in his hand, sat his flatmate.  
"God, Sherlock. What is that smell?" John exclaimed.  
"Hmm, what?" Sherlock looked up, "Oh, just an experiment."  
"It's disgusting," John took a proper look at the tall man. Sherlock was still dressed in the suit he had been wearing when John had gone to bed.  
"Sherlock, have you had any sleep?"  
"Sleep is boring, John." John could practically hear Sherlock's eyes rolling, "This is imperative to the result of a case."  
"It's 5.40 in the morning. When was the last time you got any sleep?"  
"Not sure," Sherlock replied distractedly.

John sighed, walking towards the window to open it. Below him, the London street was starting to come to life. A few cars drove down the road and a handful of people were trudging along the grey footpath. Another wave of odorous air reached John. Coughing, he turned back towards his flatmate.  
"For the love of God, Sherlock! Why does it smell like fish?"  
"That's not supposed to happen," his flatmate's baritone sounded almost amused.  
"That's NOT supposed to happen? What WAS supposed to happen then?" John was too tired to shout, but he stressed the words.  
"Well. It should have smoked a little," Sherlock's attention was on the test tube in his hand, barely registering the other man in the room.  
John silently watched the tall genius as he continued his experiment. The thin, pale hand shook slightly, and the normally straight backed man slumped a little in the chair.  
"Sherlock," the doctor said softly, watching as the tall man flinched at the noise. "When was the last time you got any proper sleep?"  
"Monday," Sherlock replied quickly, trying to smother a yawn.  
"Jesus, Sherlock," John stated, "Today's Saturday. That's what, 5 days?"  
"I'm perfectly fine," Sherlock said, turning back to the table of chemicals.  
"No, no you are not," His doctor's instinct had kicked in and he knew that his friend needed sleep, preferably before he fell down.  
"Sherlock, please," John was almost begging, "Go and get some sleep."

John turned to see Sherlock slumped against his chair, eyes closed slightly. With a small smile, he walked to the chair and laid a hand on the detective's shoulder.  
"Come on, off to bed with you," John chuckled lightly, not wanting to wake him.  
"I can do this myself," a sleepy baritone muttered, stumbling as he stood. John watched him walk off, but started to follow as Sherlock stumbled against the wall. 'How tired must he be if he's walking into the walls?' John thought.

The next minute Sherlock staggered and placed his hand against the wall to steady himself. John was next to Sherlock in a flash, slowly sliding the lanky detective's arm over his shoulder.  
"Just lean on me," John said soothingly, hoping Sherlock was too tired to argue.  
" 'M perfectly capable of walking," Sherlock murmured, "I just need to figure out which door is mine." He's seeing double, John realised with a start. Gently, he moves towards Sherlock's door supporting his friend as he goes.

They reached Sherlock's bedroom, John shifting his balance so he could support both the lanky man and open the door. Once they were inside, John placed Sherlock sitting on his bed and then turned to walk out. Stopping at the door, John had the inexplicable urge to turn around. What he saw was Sherlock, fumbling with the normally simple task of undoing the buttons of his shirt. The sight of the normally competent man struggling like a five year old made John smile a little. Sherlock reminded him of a five year old a lot, come to think of it. The doctor walked back over to his friend, gently removing Sherlock's hands from where they were attempting to push buttons through the buttonholes.  
"Here," He said, his voice soft and caring, "Let me do that."  
Sherlock made no attempt to argue, sitting on his bed with his eyes half closed. John made short work of the buttons, slowly pushing the shirt off of Sherlock and then resting it on a nearby chair.  
"Sherlock," John looked up to see that Sherlock's eyes were closed. "Sherlock, I'm going to take your shoes and socks off." John felt a little bit like a dad, looking after their sleepy kid. "Is that ok?"  
A low grumble came from the sleepy man seated on the bed, which John took as confirmation. John knelt down by Sherlock removing each shoe and sock, and placing them near a chair in his room.

Internally, John debated whether he should do the next step or not. On one hand, John knew how uncomfortable it is to sleep in suit pants. On the other hand though, removing Sherlock's pants was not something that John really felt comfortable doing.  
"Ah, Sherlock" John began, looking at the detective in the dark. He didn't continue though.  
Curled up on top of his covers, eyes closed and snoring very softly, was the world's only consulting detective. John gently laid a blanket over the sleeping form and then walked out of the room.  
"Good night Sherlock," John whispered from the doorway, "Sleep well."


End file.
